


Tremors

by 3amscribbles



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Aaron's fear catching up with him and him dealing badly with it basically, Anxiety, M/M, Worry, but Robert's there!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-07-07 20:48:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15915957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3amscribbles/pseuds/3amscribbles
Summary: One time is one too many. Aaron's almost lost Robert more times than that, and the reaction to it finally hits.





	Tremors

**Author's Note:**

> Initial reaction-fic to the 6th of September episodes with a reasoning that goes like this: as long as I can still hope that Robert gets ALL the comfort from Aaron ON SCREEN like he bloody should, I get to write a comfort-fic in Aaron's favour because I'm forever bitter that Aaron was never allowed to ride out the waves of his fear when Robert was shot OR hit by a car (says the Swede who saw the 2017 Christmas ep on tv again TODAY, wow they're far behind over here.)
> 
> In other words, this is entirely self-indulgent and you should probably not read it. :)

Aaron’s fingers are trembling. He can feel the tips of them shake against his palms where the loosest of fists hang helplessly at his sides. The thumbs are the worst, making the hands spasm, the arms move, his skin break out with goosebumps.

Breathing’s difficult. The repetitive instinct of in-out-in-out isn’t there anymore, doesn’t come naturally when he’s in the middle of a storm like this. Something in the back of his mind flashes him a neon-lit warning of _panic attack,_ but he knows in his very core that this is not one, that this is something entirely different. That this is being in love. Being terrified. Being terrifyingly in love.

It reminds him of Jackson and trains and horror, but it’s actually _worse_ because back then he’d been warned in advanced; had been assured that there was relief beyond the confusion and pain, that it was going to put an end to a loved one’s suffering. His hands shook through that, too, badly enough that he almost couldn’t go through with it and be of any help, but now it’s _different_. His hands don’t have an assigned task; they just hang. Shake. Fingers and hands and arms, his elbows paralyzed and unable to lift those damn hands so that he can steady them against something – hold on to something real.

To _Robert_ , who’s real. Still real. Still here when he could have been gone. Still alive when he could have been killed while Aaron wouldn’t have been around to stop it, wouldn’t have known, would have been too far away.

His knees are weak; petrified. There’s dread pulsating in his stomach, expanding and restricting like a second heartbeat that is making him feel sick, and breathing’s _so damn difficult_. No air seems to be going down to his lungs; organs potentially punctured by shards of his proper heart, the emotional, overflowing one that was breaking and breaking and breaking until Robert with his band-aid of a smile and his healing, overwhelming, incredible love that’s also sharp. So sharp. Shards inside that chest, too; splintered by the disappointment that he was labelled as and by the everlasting power of never being good enough until Aaron.

They break each other. Patch each other up.

Aaron’s vision’s going blurry. The entire living room’s disappearing into a pixilated mess of shape and colour until it’s eventually nothing, swallowed up by water as though he’s back in that lake again, stuck in a car and fading away from everything that matters to him.

There’s a faraway noise. It’s wet and harsh, ripped out reluctantly from somewhere and sounding ugly. This is himself falling apart on the living room carpet, and it’s _good_. It’s better when he’s the one breaking, when he can deal with the fear and the pain and the threat of death and know that everyone that he loves are safe. He’s lost himself so many times; willed himself out of life and been pulled back into it over and over again. He can deal with it a thousand more times, but not this, not again, can’t be standing in hospital rooms after gunshots and car crashes – can’t hear about near-death situations involving serial killers that he wasn’t even around to throw himself thoughtlessly into.

His jaw’s shaking now, too. He realizes so when a palm presses gently to it, when a thumb’s suddenly brushing over his stubble and bringing warmth all along his front, bracing itself against the earthquake that he has become and fighting the tremors, ignoring the way he is breaking himself apart and causing destruction where he stands.

Robert smells like home. More so than the house, the candles Liv’s lit on the table, the hint of his mum’s perfume and Paddy’s cheap body wash. Aaron manages a first, heaving breath and leans blindly forward and into that warmth.

Home; indestructible and _his_ and he’s leaving a trail of salty water and snot over an expensive jacket, but Robert’s only response is to pull him in tight. A unit upon the living room carpet, both of them real.

He curls his fingers in the front of Robert’s shirt, and squeezes. Presses his forehead to Robert’s clavicle and takes another shuddering breath of comforting scent and desperation, exhaling a loop of, “I hate you I hate you I hate you.”

Robert’s taking a lot of his weight, a pillar in this home as though he’s aware of how petrified Aaron’s knees are, of how unsupportive they can become in the face of threatening loss. He’s humming against Aaron’s temple, now, tangible in a way only he is while the storm keeps on going, though a moment later he’s lifting Aaron’s head gently, tilting it back from his own body to make sure that they can look at each other.

There’s a hint of a smile on his lips, soft and fond and clear now that he’s wearing most of Aaron’s tears on his jacket. He puts his hands on both sides of Aaron’s face, wiping carefully beneath swollen eyes and making Aaron feel more vulnerable than ever beneath all the love in that gaze.

“Never thought there’d come a day when I’d be happy to hear you say those words to me,” he murmurs, tilting his head, his smile, Aaron’s patched up heart and the entire world – possibly back into their places.

Aaron loves him, loves that he’s trying to be witty and failing. Ignores it because this is important; “I can’t lose you. I can’t. I _can’t_ , Robert, I—“

“You won’t,” Robert hushes him. Kisses him once, swift, like another promise. “You won’t.”


End file.
